more slowly, for her joy made her timid.

The stranger came on. As he approached he took off his hat, revealing a
very tanned face and light short hair; his well-opened eyes were blue;
he had a rather drooping mustache, otherwise his face was clean shaven.
If ten years make a difference in a woman, they often effect a greater
change in a man. When Arnold last saw Frances he was twenty-two; he was
very slight then, his mustache was little more than visible, and his
complexion was too fair. Now he was bronzed and broadened. When he came
up to Frances and took her hand, she knew that not only she herself,
but all her little world, would acknowledge her lover to be a very
handsome man.

"Is that really you, Frances?" he began.

His voice was thoroughly manly, and gave the girl who had longed for him
for ten years an additional thrill of satisfaction.

"Is that really you? Let me hold your hand for an instant; Frances you
are changed!"

"Older, you mean, Philip."

She was blushing and trembling--she could not hide this first emotion.

He looked very steadily into her face, then gently withdrew his hand.

"Age has nothing to do with it," he said. "You are changed, and yet
there is some of the old Frances left. In the old days you had a
petulant tone when people said things which did not quite suit you; I
hope--I trust--it has not gone. I am not perfect, and I don't like
perfection. Yes, I see it is still there. Frances, it is good to come
back to the old country, and to you."

"You got my letter, Philip?"

"Of course; I answered it. Were you not expecting me this evening?"

"Yes: I came out here on purpose to meet you. What I should have said,
Philip, was to ask you if you agreed to my proposal."

"And what was that?"

"That we should renew our acquaintance, but for the present both be
free."

Arnold stopped in his walk, and again looked earnestly at the slight
girl by his side. Her whole face was eloquent--her eyes were bright with
suppressed feeling, but her words were measured and cold. Arnold was not
a bad reader of character. Inwardly he smiled.

"Frances was a pretty girl," he said to himself; "but I never imagined
she would grow into such a beautiful woman."

Aloud he made a quiet reply.

"We will discuss this matter to-morrow, Frances. Now tell me about your
father. I was greatly distressed to see by your letter that your mother
is dead."

"She died eight years ago, Philip. I am accustomed to t